The Book that Bites
by Thomas H. Bombadil
Summary: In which Newt is asked to give his opinion on a recent groundbreaking publication in Magizoology: The Monster Book of Monsters. This fic is mainly a portrait of Newt as an old man, his life with Tina, and his philosophy on beasts.


"Easy, easy now," said Newt softly to Agatha. The old, gray Hippogriff ruffled her feathers, but knelt her head, allowing him approach. Newt's knees creaked a little as he crouched on the ground; he was not as young as he once was. His skin was weathered and his hair long since grayed. Still, his eyes shown brightly and there was a certain spryness in his movement, uncommon in wizards of his age.

"Now, let's see about that leg of yours." As if understanding, Agatha the Hippogriff gently extended a bandaged foot. Deftly, Newt unwound the spent wrappings and surveyed the damage beneath. The Hippogriff's claws flexed in discomfort, but she stayed otherwise steady. "Healing up rather well… that's good, that's very good, nothing festering…"

Newt opened a worn, wooden carrying-case that sat on the grass at his side. Inside was a jumble of stoppered bottles, jars, and ointments. Newt fished around and retrieved a short, fat jar filled with a glowing green salve. The Hippogriff's wounds would heal best on their own, but the salve would take away any of the remaining pain. And that was the point.

Newt's suitcase been retired long ago—just like him… technically. But old habits died hard. The walled garden around the cottage had been expanded here and there to house a range of non-human occupants. The nearest Muggle hamlet was a distance and a hill away. He didn't worry about sightings. (There were, however, some in the Ministry who expressed concern that he didn't worry _enough_.)

The creatures came to him in all sorts of odd ways. Through old colleagues, and sometimes anonymously. Once, he'd received a letter from a seven-year old desperately seeking salvation for a Fwooper the mother no longer cared to put up with. Some of the creatures were long term residents—like the Bowtruckle clan, of course, who valiantly guarded the rose arbor—and most were transient. The Fwooper had been cheerfully passed on to his grandson, Rolf, within a week.

Agatha had been found in the home of a deceased wizard a few days ago. The fellow lived so close to Muggles that Agatha was kept tethered most of the time. The old wizard lived alone—no one noticed when he dropped dead. For three days, old Agatha struggled against her bonds, tearing the flesh of her leg in the process. She'd been a bleeding mess by the time the Ministry had arrived to reclaim the wizard's magical artifacts and remove any enchantments on the house.

Agatha was so old she could barely fly. One of her eyes was milky white, blind. Due to the creature's age, the Beast Division declared Agatha impossible to rehouse and slated her for a "merciful" execution. Newt received an urgent owl from an old colleague of his. He Disapparated in a haphazard rush that morning, dusting off the old suitcase to bring along with him. By lunchtime, he arrived home, greeted Tina with a quick peck on the cheek, and made a beeline for the garden.

Tina had looked on, uncertain, as Agatha emerged from the case into her new home. The old Hippogriff sniffed the salty air and extended her wings, allowing the sea-washed breeze to ruffle her feathers. She looked happy here.

"You know, you can't save them all," sighed Tina as Newt joined her for lunch.

"I'm not saving them all," answered Newt simply.

They'd had that argument so many times over, nothing else needed to be said. The shorthand version would do.

A gentle breeze of salty air ruffled Newt's hair as he finished the dressings on Agatha's leg. He looked up. Tina now stood in the doorway of the cottage, wrapped in a blue night robe and clutching a mug of tea. She had aged handsomely. Her features were still fine, and her hair shone silver like the moon. She watched him silently, but there was an urgency in her expression. It would wait until he was done here—Tina knew well enough to hold back when Newt was working with his beasts.

Newt collected his things and carefully, calmly backed away from the Hippogriff, who curled up on the overgrown grasses and lazily preened at her wings.

"What is it?" Newt asked Tina.

"You got an owl," said Tina.

"The Ministry?" said Newt, raising his eyebrows. "They must have found some other arcane, irrelevant regulation they think I've broken—"

"No, no, nothing like that," said Tina, who was looking rather tested. "Just, uh… well, you ought to take a look, dear."

She led him through the round, back-garden door, through the cozy library, and into the rustic kitchen. On the broad windowsill sat a nervous looking owl. The owl warily eyed a large parcel attached to her leg. It jerked ominously—on its own accord—sending the owl into a squawking panic.

"Oh, Merlin's Beard," said Newt, springing forward. Hastily, he untied the parcel from the owl's foot; she wasted no time in taking to the sky and didn't look back as she sped off into the clouds. The parcel jerked and strained in Newt's hand. Newt carefully peeled a little envelope that was stuck to the outside.

"Sending creatures by post," said Tina, disapproving. "That's cruel. Don't they know that?"

"I am often surprised at what doesn't occur to most people," said Newt distractedly. His eyes darted back and forth as he hastily read the letter. He widened his eyes and looked at his wife. "But this is no creature. It's a book!"

"I'll believe it when I see it," shot back Tina drily.

"A new Magizoology volume," explained Newt, tearing at the wrappings. "I've been asked to weigh in—oh!"

The book flew from the wrappings before Newt finished unwrapping and landed heavily on the floor. Newt and Tina both instinctively took a step back and stared at the monstrosity between them.

"That's the book?" exclaimed Tina.

"Yes?" said Newt.

It was furry. It had eyes. It had _teeth_.

The book made a low growling noise as it slowly rotated on the floor. It fixed its beady-eyed gaze on Tina's slippered feet.

"Newt…" said Tina warily.

Then the book took off, scuttling across the floor with the speed and ferocity of an overgrown cockroach. Tina screamed.

"Don't panic!" said Newt to his wife. He was already reaching for his wand. "Oh, Mauler—no!"

But it was too late. Mauler, sensing Tina was in danger, had leapt gracefully into the kitchen and pounced on the ravenous book, sinking his claws into the furry spine. The book shrieked. Mauler held on stubbornly, hissing. The book spun, and the Kneazle was jerked side to side like a windshield wiper.

"Enough!" cried Newt. "Mauler—off! _Accio_!"

The book, writhing in midair, flew to Newt's hand. He deftly pinned it under his arm and held it fast. Newt was an old man, but he was still strong. Though the furry book strained, it did not slip away. Mauler leapt to Tina's shoulder and protectively wound himself around her neck.

"Mercy Lewis!" cried Tina, stroking the Kneazle and backing away. "Now, that is what _I'd_ call a creature. Is this a joke?"

Newt suspected that it might be, but he did not respond. With his free arm, he gently reached out and touched the cover of the book with his knuckles. The book tensed…. then softened. Just like a creature might. Newt kept his breathing even, and he carefully stroked the cover. The fur was coarse, like a bear's, and thick. It began to purr.

Still stroking it, Newt carried the book gently to the kitchen table and set it down. The eyes seemed to be closed in a pleasant dream. Newt drew up a chair and turned to the first page. He chuckled almost immediately

"Newt?" said Tina.

"You'll like the title of this one," he said. "The Monster Book of Monsters."

"Haha," said Tina. "Very cute."

She pulled up a chair alongside Newt and looked over his shoulder. After five seconds of silence, the pair of them burst out laughing together.

"What—what was he thinking!" said Tina, gasping for breath. "Does he expect book stores to stock it?"

"I don't think anyone ever really knows what old Edwardus is thinking," said Newt. "Honestly, I'm surprised he asked for my opinion. He always thought he was right about everything."

Newt grew quiet. He stared at the book, suddenly troubled.

"Actually, I'd better go see him right away. What time is it, Tina?"

"Half past eight."

"Not a rude time to drop in unannounced, is it?"

"You haven't even had breakfast yet," fussed Tina.

"I'm not hungry."

"You're skin and bones."

"Eating won't change that, you know me, Tina…"

They fussed over each other for a few more minutes.

"Just be home for dinner," Tina reminded him, casting her wand at the sink of dirty dishes. "We're expecting Rolf and his friends."

"Yes, I remember," said Newt, pulling on his traveling cloak. He hesitated a moment before stuffing the book in the expandable pocket. "But I really better take care of this right away. I have no idea what Edwardus is up to…"

"Well, he did ask your opinion, so I say lay it on thick," said Tina, smiling now. "Tell him the teeth are a bit much."

"Will do," said Newt. He kissed her on the cheek and turned to the kitchen fireplace. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and disappeared in a green rush of flames.


End file.
